In a silk net from golden hair
by LilithTheSwanDemoness
Summary: Period AU: Killian is an artist, living all alone. He works as a fisherman at the docks to earn money. One night he wishes upon a star not to be alone anymore. Inspiration strikes him and he paints the form of a woman, which becomes his companion. He's reluctantly about to sell the painting for a good price, until one night the portrait grows alive and she steps out of the canvas.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I should really stop getting new ideas. This story came out of nowhere while I was scrolling on Insta. Go figure** ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

 **I'm not sure how long this story will be, but the chapters won't be more than 2k words each. It's gonna be a small fic with the** **narration from Killian's POV.**

 **A bit different from the other fics I've written since I don't count on adding smut in this one (yet!), but I still hope you'll like it. I certainly did while writting it! The text is unbetad so please bare with me on potential typos.**

 **Enjoy :)**

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It is dark when he finally reaches his door. The seas where uncalm today and their catch wasn't big enough. Any good sailor knew that fish were hard to get in a storm. Still, Captain ordered him to stay more than usual, cause no fish meant no payment and Killian couldn't afford that. So he stayed and he put on a wrestle with the waves.

His back is aching when he finally unlocks his door and walks up the stairs inside the small place he calls home. He disposes the coat from his shoulders to one of the few chairs he owns. He doesn't have much. His valuable possessions could fit into a saddle bag or a small chest. He could pack them at any moment and leave. The thought had passed his mind many a time. But where to go? He has no one to follow him, or at least someone to stay back and miss him if he does go.

Killian unties the cravat from his neck and places it on the wooden table. The cloth as wet as the rest of him. His hair had stopped dripping but is still hanging over his eyes. The thought that he needs to cut it before it's too long to fit in a ponytail crosses his mind. Usually he would have felt cold but the August evening has the atmosphere pretty warm. Good. At least he would dry soon enough.

He drags his body to the window in the very back of his small house. It is placed in the middle of the wall, beneath it to its left is the semi large bunk he uses as a bed, to its right his canvases, tripods and a small table holding the colors, palette and paint brushes. He draws back the old flimsy curtains and opens it. The full moon seems to illustrate the whole space. He rests his forearms on the worn out wood and leans forward to exhale a long breath. It was nights like this when he missed his brother more than anything. He remembers how much he loved the full moon. How he used to take him by the hand and lead him to the beach where they would crouch down on the sand and stare at the endless sky. He used to teach him constellations and the stories behind them. Anything he would hear while working at the docks.

It was nights like this that he misses his brother more than anything. "Oh Liam."

It comes out as a whisper, an almost breath he didn't hear himself. "I miss you brother." He bows his head and looks down at the street. Few citizens are still out. This part of the city doesn't have that much of activity anyway. He sees a few people passing by. Most of them are just commoners like him, dressed with simple cloths and dull colored materials. He sees some horses with the riders walking by their side holding the reins and a few carriages as well. The night is quiet, most of the noises coming from the beasts' hooves on the wet pavement.

He raises his stare at the sky once again. It's full of stars like every night. The storm had passed and left behind a clear sky, almost like it was never there in the first place. After gazing for a few moments he spots the Morning Star. The brightest of them all. The legend says that if you wish upon it during the night of the August full moon it will grand your wish.

Killian used to love this story as a lad. He used to wish every summer for a better life for his family. Then for a better life for him and his brother. Now he had nothing left to wish for. He stopped wishing years ago. But now, watching the bright star shinning on the dark sky, a sudden urge is blooming in his chest. It feels so intense, a feeling that will either come out or make his insides explode.

So he closes his eyes on instinct, feeling droplets running down his scruffy cheeks, takes a deep breath and whispers in the night.

 _"I wish I was not alone anymore"_

When he reopens his eyes he feels somehow lighter inside. Like a burden was lifted from his chest. Suddenly he chuckles to himself, a sound that soon turns into a laugh and a few more tears escape his eyes again. But he doesn't feel grief anymore, he feels joy. He doesn't know where the feeling comes from but he likes it. It feels good to laugh after so much time. He can't remember the last time he laughed a genuine laugh.

And then he stops as unexpected as he started. He looks up at the Morning Star and somehow finds it shining brighter that before. It's like smiling down at him.

He pushes away from the window. He has the urge to paint. To grab a brush and feel the hard wood of the base, to dip his fingers in the smooth cool texture of liquid paint, let its aroma feel his nostrils.

He rolls the sleeves of his white linen shirt up his elbows. He should probably take it off if he doesn't want to have paint on it, but he doesn't care right now. He approaches his canvas. The unfinished face of his dead brother looking back at him. In the place where his eyes should be there's still an incomplete blank space. He could never finish it. Could never create the exact same shade of blue for his brother's eyes. It never looked good enough. So he let the painting be. Waiting. He would never be able to finish it. He didn't have the strength to without breaking down. Until now.

He grabs his pallet and the container of the blue paint powder. He starts creating the different shades on it. They're a lot. To him they look to be more than one hundred different shades. And then he paints. And it feels good, it feels cathartic. And he goes on and on, and as the night passes he doesn't stop. He doesn't stop until the painting is finished, blue paint is smudged all over his hands and forearms, and his brother's warm blue eyes stare back at him. He takes a step back to admire his work.

He has to name it, like he does with all his paintings. He never thought this moment would come, never thought he would actually find the courage to finish painting his brother and have to name the work. He wasn't prepared for this. But as he stares at the warm painted smile and the light curly brown hair, he knows the name is there, had always been there from the moment Killian was firstly born. So he dips the slim brush in black paint and then approaches the bottom of the canvas to scribe his birth name and the name of the painting. It reads:

 _The Morningstar_

 _Killian Jones_

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 **A/N: August moon is supposed to be the largest, brightest full moon of the year. To me it always looks the same LOL.**

 **For some backstory, Killian lost Liam only a few years ago and before that their parents too. They weren't** **abandoned. We will dig a little more on that in the chapters to come. He tried to paint Liam's portrait for years after his death but never had the mental strength to. Also, he is 28 of age.**

 **Any thoughts you'd like to share? Please do, it means a lot!**


	2. Chapter 2

Killian wakes before dawn like every morning. Raising his head from the pillow he takes a look around his small space. The room is still dark and the moon from last night is still partly visible. He gets up feeling light and bashful. A quick look at his brother's portrait makes him smile. It's a poor substitute to the real person but the painted smile is still as beautiful as it was last night. "Good morning Liam," he greets the painting. He picks his shirt from the floor where he dropped it last night. It has some stains of blue paint on it as expected. He still has dried paint under his fingernails as well. It doesn't really matter as no one important is gonna see him anyway. He puts on his shirt and reaches for his cravat on the table. It feels ragged from the dried salt on it, but he puts it on anyway. It's not like he has any more options after all.

A plate with yellow cheese and bread sits on the table from last night. He only now realized he hasn't eaten from yesterday noon. He grabs the bread and takes a bite. It's dry and tasteless but it's the only breakfast his has for now so he eats it with great appetite, like it's the richest flavored pastry he's ever tried.

Half an hour passes and then he grabs his coat and gets out of the door. He has to get to the docks. The streets are empty but it's not something new. Such early hour only the fishermen and bakers were up. He reaches the docks on time like every day. "Good morning Captain," he greets captain Silver.

"There you are boy! And I said you wouldn't find the strength to rise today," captain Silver's tone was light and teasing. He was cranky most of the time but a good captain and a good man nonetheless. Killian watched the crew and understanding was the captain meant. Most of them were more like dragging their arses around rather than doing their chores. Yesterday's storm really did a number on them.

"Ship shape as always Captain. Waiting for orders, sir." Killian held great respect for captain Silver. He was the one who first offered job to his brother and then Killian himself.

"Check the railing, make sure the nets are in good shape and everything is in place for we set sail in an hour's time." An hour later they were sailing away from the shore and ready for the day's catch. "Come on lads, these fish won't be caught on their own!"

As the time passes the sun starts peaking over the horizon drowning the sky in rich pinks and oranges. It almost looks like the colors on his palette. The sea turns an elegant emerald green and it's then when a pair of eyes of this exact color flashes in his mind. He had never seen eyes of this glorious color, he is sure of it. He could have never forgotten if he had. And yet the green irises are staring back at him. Killian gives his head a hard shake. He should focus on his nets. Their catch is good. If they continue like this he will be able to head home before the first breads come out from the bakery.

As the sun climbs higher on the sky he thinks of these green eyes again. But this time something different happens. This time he looks up at the sun and he sees strands and curls of golden hair along with the emerald eyes. "Hey Killian! Eyes on the sea boy or you'll end up swimming with the fish!" His captain's voice wakes him from his delirium. He doesn't know how much time he spent looking at the sun but given the bright spots and lines that form before his eyes he concludes it was far more than what considered healthy. "Sorry Captain!" He calls back.

But he can't stop himself. It's like his brain is not obeying him anymore. He sees green eyes and blond hair, ample breasts and dotted freckles, he sees long legs and soft kissable lips. And then he realizes. These are not memories of a person, it is inspiration. Killian thought he had lost his inspiration years ago along with his brother, the last of his family. But as the images keep flashing behind his eyelids he just knows. He recognizes the feeling. He got his inspiration back, and he has to paint!

When they sail back towards the port Killian can't wait to step on land and run back to his home. Of course he can't do that. He has to help unload the barrels full of fish and set the bench on the market. It is late morning when he is finally paid his share and can head back. Along the way he feels his stomach rumbling. He realizes that his poor breakfast was not good enough to keep him from getting hungry during the day. He decides to purchase a few things from the market as fruits, vegetables, a piece of dry meat and some more cheese and then on a quick stop at the tavern for something to eat.

He occupies his usual table until one of the maid girls came to take his order. Samantha. He's not even surprised anymore she's the one to come. She's a sweet girl few years younger than him, and she always seems to be trying to gain his attention. Weather her corset would be unlaced, or laced tighter than he could assume is comfortable to pop the breasts up. Today it's unlaced. "Good morning Killian," she greets him batting her eyelashes. "Good morning lass," he greets back trying to avert his eyes and not stare at her heavy bosom. "So, what can I get you? The usual?" she put her hands on the table and leaned forward, literally pushing her breasts in his face, "Or would you rather to try something new?" her voice low, only for him to listen.

"Just the usual, thank you," he says pointy looking her in the eyes. She seemed to get the message as she left his table without another word but still with a seductive look in her beautiful brown eyes. As hard as she was trying to win him over, Killian never returned her affection. Of course he is a man and can recognize a bony lass when he sees it, and of course he has urges, but girls like Samantha are not for a night's pleasure to be disposed in the morning. She is the kind of girl you take for a wife, to born you sons and love her for the rest of your days. But marriage and settling down is the last thing on Killian's mind. So he remains a gentleman around her, hoping she will soon realize he is not the man for her.

They have brothels for the other purpose, not that he could ever afford a night with any of the girls. His good looks are enough most of the time to charm a willing partner and blow some steam off his system. But this is as far as he ever goes.

After eating a small and quick meal he purchases a bottle of rum as well for his small stack and then makes his way back.

Once inside he disposes his stuff as quickly as he can. He's still a bit wet from the morning and pretty sure he stinks like fish but he couldn't care less at the moment. He takes off his cravat and shirt as well this time. On the tripod is still the smiley face of his brother. He doesn't have the guts to take it down. It feels like something bad will happen if he moves from its place. So the grabs the other tripod resting on the wall and puts a fresh blank canvas on it.

Then he takes hold of a piece of coal. Bringing it to the soft surface of the canvas he starts drawings lines and curves. He has no idea was he's sketching, but he lets his subconscious lead him. Soon the physique of a woman appears on the cream white space. Her back is facing him and her right hand is resting lightly on her bare breast to shield it from his eyes. Over her thighs a sheet is draped, barely covering her behind and her also bare legs are picking from where the sheet is raised. Her head is turned to his direction but her eyes stare at nothing in particular. Her long hair almost reaching her waist does not cover the entirety of her back, just her left shoulder and blade.

She almost looks like taunting him. So soft, so pure and innocent. The drawing creating itself more than him actually making it. He has no control over his hand; it just sketches what it wants. And then he puts the coal down. His hand is smudged with black and he wipes it at the skin of his belly to clean it off, leaving a trail of grey behind.

He takes hold of his palette. It is scribed clean from last night. He puts multiple earthy colors and tones on it. Then he grabs a brush and starts coloring her skin. He was about to make it tanned and shining, giving the illusion she is bathed in the morning light. But again his hand has a mind of its own, and in the end ivory flesh is taking shape on his canvas. It looks soft and fair and he has the itch to reach with his fingers and touch the wet paint. He holds it back.

It's past noon when he is satisfied that her skin tone is complete. He will only add some shines and shades on it when the rest of the coloring is done as well. He thinks about taking a break. Perhaps have a sip of rum and a bite before he continues. But he feels the painting calling to him. Summoning him. So he continues. And by the night her golden blond hair are floating over her. It's far from complete but from what he already sees she almost looks angelic. No wonder she came to him in his mind's eye. Creatures like her do not exist in real life. Women like her only exist in books and stories and legends and the improper thoughts of men. He imagines that when a poet writes poems about beauty and elegance, a woman like this takes hold of his mind. Cause if he could describe beauty with one picture, it would certainly be her.

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 **A/N:** **New chapter everyone! So, Killian got** **his inspiration back. Any guesses** **who he might be drawing? *giggles***

 **I'm sorry if the chapter came out a little late, I was planning on posting it days ago but apparently I'm a lazyass.** **Please** **forgive** **any spelling** **or** **grammar** **mistakes** **.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: This chapter contains some mild male** **masturbation** ***** **fiercely** **blushing*. Nothing too** **graphic** **but I thought I should warn you.**

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It was late night but Killian didn't have any sleep. His thoughts are running miles per minute, his eyes are trained in the unfinished painting of the blond goddess. He wants to continue drawing her but he doesn't have any more strength inside him to do so. His eyelids are heavy and he's pretty sure that the contents in his stomach are in the majority more rum than food. He takes another sip from the stein in his hand filled with the said amber drink. He moves his eyes to his other paintings, the majority of them resting on the floor and against the wall.

Killian is talented. He knows he is. When he discovered his flair in painting his mother was the first one to motivate him in exploring and developing his talent. She would pose for hours and hours for him in order to sketch her in a piece of parchment with some coal. And the sketches went from chicken scribes to elegant black and white portraits of dark hair and light eyes.

When younger he used to do the portraits of high class ladies. The kind ones at least. They found very cute the fact that a young boy with only a few good looks on them could draw them almost identical. They used to pinch his cheek and praise him for his talented hand and eyes. It was a source of income back then, when he end Liam became orphans. Killian running around drawing portraits or other requested images, and Liam working his arse off at the port and docks. Now a days no one looked interested enough to purchase his works. Most of them were snippets of his imagination. The horizon always his favorite. He stares at his works; Ships during storms, birds chirping on tree brunches, flowers blooming, white snow stained with droplets of red blood, mothers cradling their newborn babies, the faces of young children, Liam. And then her.

He decides it's time for him to retire for the night. He has an early wake tomorrow like every day. The fish never wait. He drinks the last of his rum and then gets up from his chair. He stares down at his torso. He's covered in paint. Earthy colors, like her skin and hair. He ponders for a moment about washing before heading to bed, but it's already late enough and the paint dried long time ago. So he leaves as it is. He will deal with it in the morning. He takes of his breeches and underpants as well. The night is hot and he doesn't feel like keeping them on. He sleeps like this from time to time. It's not like anyone's here to see him. He lies on the bed and brings the sheet up to his waist. He stares at the ceiling for a moment and then closes his eyes and surrenders to Morpheus veil.

He wakes up in the middle of the night covered in sweat. He was actually used to it, after months of waking up in cold sweat after having a horrible night terror. Most of the times he was reliving Liam's death, or dreaming of losing him to other different ways. He always woke up screaming after dreams like those. But he's not screaming now. In fact he doesn't even feel cold from the sweat clinging to his skin. He feels hot, like he's on fire. Flashes of gold and emerald pass in front of his eyes. He thinks he can hear laughter. A soft and light sound. He sees a breathtaking smile. Pink lips and porcelain teeth. But he can't concentrate on the images. They're too many and pass too fast for his foggy mind to catch them. And he's still hot. The summer heat is too much tonight it seems. He'll just go to the basin and throw some fresh water in his face and neck to cool down. The takes hold of the sheet and throws it away from his legs in order to get up.  
And then he realizes. He wasn't having a nightmare, he was having a dream. And judging by his erection pointing up it was a very good vivid dream. He's staring at his member for a few moments like he can't actually believe he woke up aroused in the middle of the night. And he can't, cause this hasn't happened to him for a very long time. He wasn't a boy anymore, he knew very well how to control his body and its reactions.

But then images of soft skin and long legs plunder his thoughts again and he feels hot and twitching around his groin all over. He gets up fast and stumbles to the basin. Walking in this condition was indeed as uncomfortable as he remembered. He groans at the discomfort. He fills the basin with water and splashes it on his face. He lets the droplets run down his neck and chest. They leave a clean trail where they wash off the paint from his skin. He braces his hands at the edge of the small table and lets out a breath. A small dusty mirror hangs from the wall over the basin. Killian takes a look at his reflection. The room is dark but the moonlight allows him to see that his pupils are dilated and his body is flushed a pale pink tone. He tries to restrain himself from doing it, but he is only a man and it's been some time and he knows that if he doesn't release the pressure from his body he won't be able to go back to sleep.

And so that's how he makes his decision and let's his right hand trail down until he reached his aching area. With his left hand still on the table to keep his balance he starts pleasuring himself. And it doesn't take long for his groans to fill the small space of his home and for him to reach his peek and feel all tension leave his body along with the proof of his activity on his hand.

He breathes hard when it's over. It's been a long time since it felt that good. He pants like he was running and takes a moment to calm down his beating pulse. Then he washes his hands and heads back to bed. This time when sleep embraces him and images of gold and green fill his thoughts his only body reaction is a small smile timidly appearing on his lips.

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 **A/N: Sorry, sorry, a million times sorry. I know it took me forever to update. I know. But I can't promise it won't happen again because I'll probably lie.**

 **I want to inform you that I'm experiencing my first writer's block with this story. I know where I want it to go, how I want it to end, but I just can't seem to get there. Anyhow, what I can promise is that my stories won't be abandoned. None of them. That I refuse to do! I will finish them all, even if it takes me years to do so.**

 **Please remember that the story is unbetad, so you know, bare with my mistakes.**

 **I** **f you're also following How Far Are You Willing To Go know that a new chapter is on the way. Soon.**

 **Kisses everyone xxxxx**


	4. Chapter 4

Morning comes very early today. Killian tries to open his eyes but the pounding in his head does not allow him to. It's not a headache, more than a reminder that last night he drunk a little too much rum. He throws the sheet away and goes to look outside the window. It's still dark like every morning and the city is quiet. He realizes he's still naked from his sleep so he steps back from the window and pulls the curtains in place. No matter the early hour he doesn't have to flash anyone in his naked form. He splashes some water on his face to wake up. He notices his upper arms and abdomen, still covered in paint from last night. As on instinct he turns his head to look at the painting of her. He can see her face dancing before his eyes. Her facial features, her glinting eyes, her pink lips. Yes, he can see her face, and it looks beautiful. He wants to paint it. He wants to reach for the table holding his colors and paint her face. But he can't. Not now. Work awaits and he has to get going. He washes the paint away with some cold water and then puts on his pants and a clean shirt. Today he also wears a vest over it along with the cravat. He also grabs his coat even though he knows the day will become hotter by the time he comes back.

The docks are buzzing with activity like every other day from sailors and deckhands. He spots Captain Silver and nods his head in greeting. He looks grumpier that usual today. "'Bout bloody time, boy! These railings won't be secured by themselves. Off to work with you!" Killian's answer comes in the form of an "Aye Captain!" and then he's on his way up the deck. Thank God today his spirits are so high that he'll endure whatever his captain throws his way. He works with a smile on his face all day, making some of his fellow co-sailors wonder what is up with him. He pays them no mind, as he is not ready to share the reason behind his jollity. Even when his hands are full of fish, fins and scales, his mind runs away to the presence on a blond beauty. For a third day in a row their catch is good which means he may leave with a bigger share in his pocket one of these days. The thought makes Killian smile. He's helping Smee unload the fish in the market when a hand comes down clapping his shoulder. "Long time no see, am I right my friend?"

He turns to see David Nolan smiling at him. "Dave!" Killian exclaims joyfully and brings him in a hug. "Aye, it's been quite long mate. What are you doing here? I can't even recall the last time we've seen each other." He is so glad to see an old friend after such a long time. David Nolan is on the noblest men to walk this earth. He reminds him of his brother so much. "Ah I'm afraid it's bad news that brings me here," David says as his smile falls away. Killian looks worried and confused as David processes to explain. "My father," he says and takes a moment to gather his emotions. "Bandits walked on him at his last journey home. Robbed him of everything. He never made it back. The news came to us a few weeks later from the local authorities. God bless his soul."

Killian didn't know how to respond. He was familiar with the pain of losing a father as well as that no words could make ever it easier. You always had to deal with the grave. He just put a hand on David's shoulder. "I'm sorry to hear that David. I've never met your father personally, but to grow a son like you I bet he was a great man. A good man." His friend smiles in return for the condolences. "That he was. But enough with the sorrows," he says and his smile is back on his face. "Tell me about you. How are holding up?" Killian was about to answer when Smee's voice from behind his back interrupts him. "Hey Jones! Are you going to give me a hand here or shall I send a wench to serve you some ale? Silver in not paying for you to slacker!" From his tone it was obvious that Killian took advantage of his friend's sudden appearance. "Coming Smee!" He sought back.

He turns an apologetic look at David. "I'm afraid the red-cupped rodent is right mate," he whispers. He just laughs in return. "Yes yes, he's right I'm holding you from your job. I need to get back to mine, anyway. Tell you what. Come and find me at the tavern during noon so we can properly catch up over food and drink. 'Aye'?" he says trying to imitate Killian's accent. At his part Killian chuckles and embraces David one more time. "Aye mate sounds wonderful. Goodbye for now. It was great seeing you." David claps his back. "You too my friend. You too." And then he walks away. Killian turns back on his work, hearing Smee murmuring courses under his breath, pretty sure it's on his behalf. He decides to let it pass and just stick to his business.

It's still early once he is paid for the day, so he decides to walk back home. He has plenty of time until his meeting with David and in fact he can't hold back from his unfinished painting any more. He practically runs the last steps to his place and almost slams the door closed in his hurry. He takes off his coat and cravat and rolls his sleeves up his elbows. The beauty on the canvas is exactly how he left her, face still blank. _"Not for long"_ he thinks to himself and grabs his palette.

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 **A/N: I was supposed to focus on finishing my** **Power Electronics project but I couldn't hold back myself. I had this chapter ready and I wanted to make up for the very, very, very long wait.**

 **So Killian wakes up in a good mood after his last night activities *wink*. And who would have known, David is here now! And he is here to stay, believe me. I absolutely love David!**


	5. Chapter 5

Shades of green and pink fill the smooth surface of the wood. So many colors and so many possible combinations, he doesn't know from where to start. So he closes his eyes. And he lets the pictures flow in his mind. She's young, and blond, and beautiful, but he already knows that. No, he needs something more. He concentrates harder on her. On her expressions, her body. And then he can hear her laughing again. He can smell her scent. And her eyes are there glowing like gems, now clearer than ever. He opens his eyes and takes hold of a brush. It was time to bring her to life. Emotional eyes, sharp brows, small and elegant nose, beautiful lips. He paints and paints and paints, until her whole face is complete. It feels like hours have passed and yet he is not sure how long his brush was gliding over her face. So he puts it down and takes a moment to just look at her.

He feels like he was asleep and waking from a slumber. Like he was hypnotized all this time. She has little freckles on her nose and cheeks. He doesn't remember putting them there and yet they now exist. Her cheekbones have a blush on them. A natural earthly rosy color. Her lips are small but full. Kissable. And then these eyes. He could swear he never gazed in such eyes before in his life. They indeed look like gems. Like priceless emeralds. He was the one to create her and yet it feels like he looks at her for the first time. So pretty.

It takes him a moment to realize that the sun is now bathing the room, which means it is noon already and that he is probably late for his meeting with David. He is reluctant to, but in the end he tears his eyes and his body away from the painting in order to wash up and leave to find his friend. He takes a last look at the paint drying on the canvas and then closes the door behind him. The sun is showering him from above making him feel thankful for leaving his coat at home. The heat is on its peak as he walks down the street to the docks, heading at the tavern he used to meet with David all these years.

 _Granny's_ was of the few places where everyone in this town could co-exist. It wasn't uncommon to see a table of merchants next to gambling pirates. Everyone had respect for Granny, and in secret everyone was afraid of her crossbow. The place is light by the sun coming through the windows when he walks in. A few tables are occupied and the space is mostly empty with the prospect to gather more people as the day flows. He sees David sitting in the back next to the unlit fireplace, a bench they liked to call their own. A mug of whatever he's drinking is resting on the table. Killian walks to his direction and takes a seat to the space opposite to him.

"Praise the Lord, he's here!" David exclaims dramatically once his eyes are on him. "I was starting to get worried over you." Killian lifts an eyebrow, "Oh, I always knew you had a soft spot for me Dave. I tend to have that effect on people."

"Alright don't push it," he says with a stern look but it doesn't last long as they both start laughing. "I know I said this earlier at the market, but it is really so good to see you again mate," Killian confesses. David smiles and nods the waitress to bring a drink to Killian as well. "So tell me David, what brings you here after so long? I thought your place was at your farm next to your dear mother and brother. Is it because of your fathers passing?" Killian knew it is hard to speak of a late relative so he offered the question himself. "Exactly, old friend. Father had the task to bring our merchandise to the market for sale. Now one of us has to do it. We couldn't let mother do it, so James and decided I would be the one to take the reins. He will stay at home to take care of mother and the farm."

"I'm sorry our reconnection had to be under these terms, David." Killian responses. "To better days?" he asks while raising his mug. "To better days," he agrees and they knock their drinks together in a toast. "So, Jones," David starts after taking a sip, "Tell me about you. Have you decided to settle up yet? Any girl willing to make a good man out of you?"

"Alas I'm afraid I'll disappoint you," Killian shakes his head. "I spot no lucky lass to tie the knot with me in the horizon."

"Oh come on Killian. You can't mean there is no one you are interested in. You love the ladies," David gives his elbow a playful shove. "Well," Killian starts to answer while images of gold and green travel in his mind, but he disposes these thoughts as quick as they arrived. That's a painting, not a person. A figment of his imagination, no matter the beauty. As if his life was a joke a beautiful girl just walked inside the tavern. Petite frame and long blond hair. He recognizes her as Misty, the baker's daughter.

"Hmm look what the cat dragged in," he hears David from behind him. "Don't be ridiculous Dave, she's at least ten years younger than me. Not to mention you, old man." He averted his eyes and took another sip of his drink. "No less pretty," David comments, his eyes still following the girl who made her way inside the kitchen to unload her delivery.

"Shame on you mate. I thought you were a noble man," Killian scolds him in a brotherish manner. "I'm only a man Killian, not a monk. I recognize a pretty girl when I see one. It doesn't mean I can't keep it in my pants." He laughs at Killian's scandalized face.


End file.
